


Human

by ByeByeLove



Series: Fragile [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByeByeLove/pseuds/ByeByeLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he grips Tom tight.</p><p>Sometimes it’s harder and Loki flees.</p><p>Sometimes he hides in plain sight.</p><p>Other times it’s different and he seeks Tom’s body out for reassurance.</p><p>But always, at the end, the catalyst, is Tom’s mortality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> This little story came to me by way of two things.
> 
> 1 – The song human by Christina Perri.
> 
> 2 – And a quote that I saw that said ‘It must be terrifying to love something death can touch.’
> 
>  
> 
> This isn’t exactly how I planned it out, but I quite like it.
> 
> Also, there wasn’t supposed to be this much smut, but it happened once and then they just started going at each other all over the place.
> 
> It all got quite out of hand, quite quickly.

When they first meet, it’s simple really.

Tom should have been shocked, he should have probably been surprised.

Instead he sticks out a shaking hand, smiles and says. “My name is Tom.”

Loki, head cocked to the side, grips his hand and the touch is cool, firm and sends electric pulses through Tom’s hand.

He recognizes the feeling as power – as desire.

“My name is Loki.”

Tom doesn’t know what this is, but it feels like the start of something incredible.

*

Loki eats everything Tom makes and even more.

He likes what Tom makes and eats the even more just to annoy him.

Tom gets annoyed, Loki knows this, he sees it; he thinks it’s funny.

Tom is so unflappable, so immune to anything and everything that Loki can’t help it, he loves annoying Tom, getting on his nerves and forcing that English gentleman to disappear and produce a flustered rendition of a man who proverbially never runs out of straws and now seems to have no more.

So Loki eats the even more and goes with Tom to the store and hides himself to everyone but Tom and makes shelves fall, jars explode, wine and champagne fountain out at alarming speeds to alarming heights.

The tills open and money floods out, managing to find its way to the pockets of the most needy shoppers and give impossible paper cuts to the wealthier ones.

Tom never comments on any of this, never reprimands him, but Loki sees him fighting for control, can practically hear the words of apology that are begging to be set free.

When they get home, Tom ignores him, ignores him and ignores him and ignores him until he snaps and sometimes he yells.

Sometimes he just shakes his head.

Most of the time though, he laughs.

Loki likes those times best.

*

Loki does things that do things to Tom.

He appears out of nowhere and Tom is usually forced to turn his shriek of surprise into something more manly – like a cough.

It never works and Loki always laughs, hard and then harder still, a full-bodied laugh that is at once frustratingly embarrassing and also entirely too endearing.

He consistently forgets that the bath isn’t connected to his bedroom and simply wanders to and from naked as the day he was born.

Tom tries his best to ignore it.

Mostly he fails spectacularly, but what a way to go.

Really, just, _oh Valhalla_ , _look_ at that ass.

*

Sarah, Emma and his mother take his presence in stride.

Emma blinks and is the first to say anything.

“Would you like some wine?”

Loki blinks back and accepts the proffered glass.

He sees Tom hide his giddy smile behind his own wine glass.

*

Loki steals his clothes.

It isn’t an inconvenience at first.

His clothes disappear from his drawers and closet and reappear on Loki and Tom is fine with that.

He’s fine with going into the second bedroom for a change of clothes, fine with doing laundry and putting half in Loki’s closet and half in his.

Until Loki starts doing it to keep Tom from leaving the flat.

When coaxing, cajoling, begging and pleading don’t work, Tom tries a new tactic.

He starts to keep emergency clothes in an innocuous duffel under his bed.

It works for about a week.

*

Loki only ever wins at table tennis when he cheats.

He creates clones and they help him win, but afterwards Tom will always shake his head disapprovingly and say it isn’t fair.

Loki doesn’t care, he likes to win, especially because Tom is so good at it.

They don’t play table tennis very often.

*

“He seems dangerous.” Chris says to him, when they are introduced – reluctantly, for everyone involved, but it is a necessity – at the first Christmas since Loki has come into Tom’s life; a little over six months now.

Tom watches Loki help India work on the set of Lego’s she got for Christmas.

She’s too young for them, but Robert thought it would be funny, little figurines of themselves.

They watch India break off a piece of the small car Loki is constructing and keep it held tight in her fist; Loki stares at her for a moment before creating a new one out of thin air and continuing to build.

After she breaks the windshield off for the third time Loki enchants the pieces to stick together permanently.

When it is finally finished, Loki flops back, wearing the awful, purposely ugly sweater that Tom got him for Christmas, a ghastly brown thing with a dog, floating in space where the stars have been replaced by snowflakes and wreaths, the collar and hems a disturbing shade of puke green.

India crawls on top of him, her fists clutching spit-soaked pieces of Lego as she climbs on top of Loki and curls against his chest, Loki’s arms wrapping around her protectively.

They are surrounded by extra bits of Lego, enough to possibly make an entirely new car, the instructions are sticking together with saliva and the car is done, forgotten under a piece of wrapping paper.

Tom watches for a long moment as they curl together and fall asleep on the floor.

He looks at Chris who is watching with a perplexed look in his eye.

“Does he?” Tom asks and Chris shakes his head; but in denial, refusal or confusion, Tom isn’t sure.

*

Loki remembers the first time he sees blood.

Not just any blood, he’s seen that before, seen enough battle and mayhem and death to not be affected by it.

But Tom’s blood, it has a significant difference to his eyes because Tom’s blood has a job to stay in his body, not leave it, not scream his mortality at Loki.

It was a simple slip of a knife, but the gush of blood that comes from the nick on his finger is staggering.

Loki flips his shit for a good five minutes before he gently takes Tom’s hand and heals it with light, green seiðr.

Tom hums at the warmth and whistles lowly in awe as the cut heals seamlessly.

There is no scar, nothing to indicate that he is so human and breakable except for the smears of blood on their hands and the tile in the sink.

But Loki rubs a finger over the spot still in worry.

Tom lets him and doesn’t say anything until the onions begin to burn in the pan.

*

Loki has nightmares that border on torture.

Tom’s first reaction was to try and wake him and when that got him a kick to the hip, he decided a different approach was in order.

So he doesn’t shake him, doesn’t jostle or try to wake him.

He braces his hands on either side of his head and whispers quietly into his ear.

“You’re okay, Loki, it’s nothing, Loki you’re fine, there’s nothing to worry about, please, please, it’s me Thomas, you’re here with me, please wake up.”

And Loki will moan pitifully and Tom will slide into the bed and continue to whisper in his ear and he places a hand over his heart and assures the racing beat of fear in his chest with gentle words in his ear until Loki calms.

Calms and breathes deep and gasps and rolls on top of Tom and crowds him into his body and shudders in his sleep.

Tom will lay and card fingers through his hair and continue to whisper, to console and banish and relieve until morning when he carefully slips from the bed.

Loki never says anything, but he does smile slightly and perhaps he is less annoying for a few days.

*

Loki doesn’t think of Tom as a burden.

He knows Tom feels that way sometimes, when Tom is too slow to grasp a concept, for all that he usually can more readily than the brightest gods.

He knows that Tom feels like it when they run through an Alfheim market where Loki proceeded to steal anything he could get his hands on – not that he needs to, he just wants to and the fact that certain of the items may interest Tom, well...

So when Loki has to double back and almost risk getting caught, he knows Tom feels like a burden, but he would never think of him like that.

Especially when he’s winded completely and hunched over and laughing and panting at the same time.

When he asks why Loki stole at all, he doesn’t answer, but he can almost feel the tips of his ears turning pink.

But he’s a god, he doesn’t blush.

Not like Tom.

*

In another world, Tom meets the Avengers.

They are loud and rambunctious and still completely in control of themselves.

They do nothing that needs more energy than its importance calls for – except drink, which they do, a lot, and are very good at.

Especially Thor who gives Tom a distinctly untrustworthy look until Tom takes three shots of vodka and manages a monologue from Henry V perfectly.

Then Thor can really not get enough of Tom.

Loki, Tom can tell by his slitty-eyed expression, is not a fan of Thor’s affections.

So he detaches himself and sits with Loki, his head on his shoulder, for the rest of the night.

*

Tom likes to read.

Loki always sees him reading when he has time and so he takes it upon himself to give him new and interesting things to read.

He brings books from Asgard, from Vanheim and Alfheim and everywhere in between.

Tom finds them in odd places; the shower, the tea tin, the freezer, his sock drawer, his pillow.

Loki never actually hands him one because he doesn’t know how to, is unsure of Tom’s reaction or what he’s supposed to say or if it is acceptable, but whenever Tom is done with the book, it appears on Loki’s bed, as though that’s where Loki left it.

Sometimes, if Loki flips the pages, Tom’s smell, his cologne, his tea, his coffee, his shampoo, his innate Tom scent, will find him.

*

Tony flirts with everyone; from Pepper to Thor to Bruce to Loki and no one takes offence, so Tom laughs it off when Tony turns that charm on him.

It’s only after, when they are on the roof of Stark Tower that Tom says anything.

“He’s very forward.”

Loki keeps staring at the stars when he answers, his voice is tight.

“Yes, well, you didn’t exactly give him reason not to be.”

Tom raises an eyebrow in surprise and looks at Loki, lying on his back, looking for all the world like a god relaxing on the beach, but Tom knows him and knows that is as far from the truth as it can be; Loki is never relaxed and his eyes are pinched even now.

“I didn’t encourage him.” Tom says carefully and Loki scoffs, the noise harsh and loud in the silent night.

“You didn’t stop him, Thomas, _that_ is encouragement.”

Tom raises himself up on his elbows and glowers down at Loki.

“I was being polite, you tit.”

Loki is up and crowding Tom back against the roof in a heartbeat. He’s leaning over Tom, trapping him in between his arms, one leg between his own and positively fuming.

“You _reciprocated_ , Thomas, you _weren’t_ polite, you let him _flirt_ with you, you let him _say_ things to you, things that – that—”

And he cuts himself off, panting as he closes his eyes, his jaw tight and Tom has never seen him like this.

“Things that?” Tom encourages, probably stupidly, but Loki makes him stupid, makes him want and see things tipped and broken so that he can rebuild them new and shiny.

“Things that I want to say to you.” Loki finishes through clenched teeth.

And then he is bruising Tom’s lips with his own, crushing them together as he licks his way into Tom’s mouth, steals his gasps and moans and replaces them with his own, like a new language that is only spoken in stuttered breath and barely audible noise.

He breaks the kiss when Tom’s hands fist in his hair and he gasps out his name in a plea of desperation.

*

Loki likes movies.

Well, mostly Loki likes movies so that he can yell abuse at the screen to make Tom laugh or huff in reluctant amusement.

Tom usually ends up throwing a pillow at him to shut him up, even as he gasps for breath from laughing so hard.

*

Not much changes at first, much to Loki’s irritation.

They do what they do, but with kissing, with cuddling and with groping, but nothing much else.

But they sleep in the same bed now.

Loki curls around Tom, nestles his body tightly against him, feels the curve of his ass against his cock.

Tom squirms against him, pressing his hips back until Loki nips playfully in reprimand at the nape of his neck.

*

Tom has a bad habit of singing.

Not a bad habit, necessarily, as he’s quite good, but it’s still a bad habit.

He will do it while he’s cooking, while he’s reading, while he’s cleaning, while he’s dressing.

Loki enjoys it most when he does it in the shower.

Because he sings in French, sometimes Spanish, but mostly French.

He likes to lean against the door and close his eyes and listen.

*

So nothing changes, much.

Not for two months.

Not until Loki kisses Tom until his knees are weak and then pushes him against the wall.

He shucks Tom’s clothing with all the determination of a deranged, sex-addict before he takes matters into his hands; literally.

He slides his fingers carefully over Tom’s cock, smooth skin and hot blood, twitching and needy as Tom gasps above him, fingers flying to Loki’s hair and gripping tight.

And then Loki swallows him down, closes his eyes and groans, because Iðunn’s apple’s having nothing on this, Tom tastes fantastic.

Loki sucks and swallows and moans as he goes, because this is so much better than he imagined – and he’s imagined quite a bit, quite a lot – and he can’t help but cant his own hips a bit, seeking friction, because he is so damn turned on by this, he may just come in his pants.

Tom isn’t really helping his situation either, with his pleading little whimpers and his own hips that are thrusting shallowly towards Loki.

But once he feels Tom twitch in his mouth as he presses a knuckle to his perineum, feels Tom groan low in his throat, Loki flicks at the head with his tongue before sliding slickly down again and letting Tom come.

He comes with a hoarse shout, fingers tightening in Loki’s hair until his eyes water. He swallows down the flood of semen and hums in delight at the taste.

He stands and Tom slides down the wall gasping, a boneless mess of a man usually so composed.

Tom’s fingers tremble as he yanks down Loki’s pajama bottoms.

Loki swats his hands away, leans against the wall on one forearm as he begins to jerk himself off with the other.

He stares down at Tom who looks up at him, lips parted for panting and eyes dark and blown, his hands tremble as he grips Loki’s hips and jerks him forward until the head of his cock breaches that softly panting mouth.

He slams his fist against the wall and comes, painting Tom’s lips and chin and neck.

His knees shake as he watches Tom lick his lips.

*

Loki likes chocolate.

All kinds.

Tom finds this out when he comes back from a three day trip for a junket in France to find Loki passed out on his sofa, brown smeared on his face and fingers and clothing.

The gift basket of chocolate had been a gag gift from Jeremy, he knew he couldn’t eat that much chocolate, let alone any of it, but Tom hadn’t gotten down to throwing it away just yet.

And now it is in tatters, demolished by a greedy god’s seeking fingers.

Tom shakes his head and laughs until it hurts.

*

Tom wakes him up with a blow job and Loki gasps and comes within minutes.

Tom grins and pants against his neck as he strokes himself and comes across Loki’s spent cock.

They sleep in the sticky mess and wake up stuck together.

They do it again.

*

Tom jogs.

It is possibly one of the most wonderful things Loki has seen.

Especially when he’s shirtless, because Loki may or may not have turned all of his workout shirts pink.

But by the Norns, look at that _everything_.

*

“It must be difficult.” Natasha says and Tom meets her eyes over the rim of his cup.

“What?” He asks, because he doesn’t have any idea, because they were just talking about hand-to-hand and she’d agreed to teach him techniques that would make training for his roles easier.

“To be with him.” She says.

Tom looks over to Loki who is in an arm-wrestling match with Bruce at the moment.

“Why?” Tom asks, because it is hard, yes, all the time, but it also isn’t, not at all, not once has it ever been too difficult or beyond his capability.

“Because you’re human.” She says. “Because it must be hard to love a god as a human.”

Tom levels her a look. He knows she’s just being Natasha, not cruel, but cruelly, brutally honest and he can’t fault anyone for being honest.

“Yes, it is hard,” Tom says finally, watching Loki slam Bruce’s hand down on the table, inciting jeers from the gathered crowd. “But how else am I supposed to love him?”

She flicks a small, barely there smile at him and he returns it in kind.

Tom knows he’s human, mortal, breakable, perishable.

He’s aware.

But he doesn’t know what else to be.

*

Loki likes Tom’s name.

Not Tom, but Thomas.

There is a charming, masculine quality to it, a warmth that comes from those letters, those syllables being strung together.

There is a certain fascination Loki has with the name, a word that is so uniquely perfect for the man it belongs to.

He says it, repeatedly, in different tones and octaves and voices and scenarios, watches in fascination as Tom blushes like a virgin schoolgirl when he tells him what his name makes him want to do to him.

So noble, he says, running light fingers over his mouth.

So strong, he says, smoothing a hand down Tom’s chest.

So smart, he says, kissing Tom’s temple.

And later, he chants Tom’s name in his ear while Tom fucks him.

*

When Loki has his moods, Tom is at a loss for what to do.

He can offer Loki everything sometimes, and it still won’t be enough.

He can offer him his books and movies and a walk and conversation and food and warmth and sleep and tea and snow and sunlight and his mind and his body and it is never, never, never enough.

He can offer him anything and everything and it is never enough.

Not until Tom is sobbing in their bed, alone and miserable and confused, so confused, because how do you help someone that doesn’t want help or won’t tell you how or why.

And then Loki will break free from his rage or depression or numbness and he will whisper softly in Tom’s ear.

Tom doesn’t know what it means, that Loki will hold him like a fragile thing after these moods, but it breaks his heart that maybe it’s his pain that stirs Loki.

Maybe that’s what Loki wants; to know that he isn’t the only one that loses it to lesser memories and thoughts and feelings.

Tom isn’t sure if it’s the pain of his pain or the joy of it.

Tom isn’t sure if he can stomach the truth.

*

Loki knows Tom wonders what he’s doing with him.

He’s aware that Tom sees himself as never enough when it comes to Loki.

It isn’t that Tom doesn’t see himself as enough overall, in general, it is that for Loki, he is human and small and meager in comparison to gods and seiðr and the realms.

But Tom’s worth, decided by Tom or Loki or the world, has never been the point.

*

For Tom’s birthday he doesn’t expect much.

Perhaps a few kisses and something much more sexual and intense, but not much.

What he gets is a two week trip to Vanheim and no clothes.

They eat outside, in the shade of the trees and listen to the birds and insects hum and speak around them.

They read by the fire and lie on the roof and watch the stars.

They swim in the pond on the edge of the clearing and kiss until they sink underwater, Tom’s legs wrapped around Loki’s hips, his fingers buried in his hair.

They sleep on the sofa, the floor in front of the fire, the ridiculous bed that could hold Tom’s bed and a half.

They wake to kissing and groping and panting, wet smears of lips against skin and stinging bites that make them both gasp into the damp air of the room.

Tom makes love to Loki sweetly, softly, as tenderly and lovingly as he can, all the while whispering filthy things in his ear.

*

Loki takes him to Asgard and Tom is introduced to those Loki deems important.

This, as you can imagine, is not very many people.

The list consists of only one.

Loki takes Tom to her statue in the garden.

Tom knows her body was sent over the waterfall and so the statue Loki takes him to is just that, a statue.

There is no sign of her spirit, her will and power being here, but Tom can feel it in the way the wind caresses them, instead of whips around like a violent thing.

He can smell it in the perfume of the flowers that twist and wind their way up from her bare feet to the very tops of her regal hair.

He can see it in the bright light that comes from the surrounding air of the statue, all golden and bright and soft.

He hears it when he steps towards her statue and there is a low hum of warmth and approval resonating from it.

Loki says nothing to any of Tom’s observations, nothing to his quiet investigations as he walks around her, his fingers trailing gently over the stone.

Nothing, until Tom stands next to him and slides his fingers into his, cooler and smoother, but a perfect fit and Tom says. “She’s lovely.”

Tom hears Loki swallow thickly as he squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

When they leave, Tom turns to see her statue smiling.

He smiles back and says. “’Til next time, Lady Frigga.”

*

“How does it feel?” Sif asks by way of greeting at a feast.

Loki doesn’t look away from where he is watching Tom across the room, dancing with Volstagg’s daughter and making her laugh as he spins her around.

“How does what feel?” He asks, smiling as Tom lifts her onto his shoes and guides her in slow circles.

“Loving him.” She says and Loki looks at her then, one eyebrow raised. “How does it feel to love him?”

Loki presses his lips into a thin line and hopes she’ll leave.

She doesn’t.

“It must be terrifying.” She says finally, after a few minutes of stiff silence. “It must be terrifying loving someone that death can touch.”

He looks at her and she has only concern in her eyes.

She touches the back of his hand lightly before walking away.

Loki’s eyes find Tom again and he has to stop himself from grabbing him and hiding him away from the world.

As if he could protect him, keep him safe.

A fantasy, but one he wishes could be made a reality.

*

Tom feels exhausted sometimes.

Loki is such a force of nature, a whirlwind of life and mayhem and energy that cannot be controlled or locked or restrained.

He does his best to keep up, but there are times when he wishes, so dearly, that Loki was a little less of a god and more of a human.

That he tired sometimes, that he had boundaries.

But he doesn’t and Tom is okay with that.

Because though he wishes Loki were more easily tired, less of a force that throws reservation out the window and basks in the chaotic order of things, he loves him the way he is.

The fantasy is just that, a fantasy, and the reality, is so much better.

*

For Loki’s birthday they stay at the flat and spend Tom’s few days of freedom curled around one another, whispering secrets in the darkness and the silence.

Tom’s birthday present for him is anything.

“Anything you want.” He murmurs into Loki’s ear and Loki’s grin is incandescently wicked.

Loki ties Tom’s hands to the headboard with unbreakable golden string.

He splays him out, teases him until he’s thrashing, whimpering, crying out obscenely into the room.

He licks at him, spreads his thighs and flicks his tongue out, making Tom squirm as he fucks him with his tongue.

Only when Tom is begging, a litany of ‘please, Loki, please, please, please’ that is so gorgeous Loki can’t resist, does he finger him, stretching him, opening him up.

When he’s slick and open and nearly sobbing, Loki slicks himself up, rolls Tom over, twisting the length of string, restraining him further, and lines himself up.

“Do you want it, Thomas?” He asks, just to tease, as he rubs the head of his cock over Tom’s entrance.

Tom nods, whimpers and breathes out hoarsely. “Yes, Loki, please.”

Loki watches, fascinated, as Tom’s body stretches around him, pulls him in, wraps around him, tight and slick and warm.

When he meets Tom’s buttocks, warm skin and trembling muscle, he leans over, nips his shoulder and fucks him.

After, when they lay panting, covered in sweat and slick and come, Tom’s thighs slippery with it, Loki idly runs his fingers through it, pushing at Tom’s abused entrance, still so loose and ready.

He makes love to him then, with Tom on his back, pupils blown and breathing ragged, his hands twisting in the golden string as he kisses back, arches his spine when Loki grazes his prostate just so.

*

They fight like anyone does, any couple can.

They fight with harsh words and biting comments that make them question the sanity of what they are doing.

But after Loki leaves for unknown places for a few days or Tom storms from the flat and sits at the park for a few hours, they always come back to each other.

Sometimes though, it’s very hard to want to.

Because Loki knows that there will be a time, a place, a word, a gesture, a phrase that will send Tom running, will send him away, so far away from Loki.

Because Tom puts up with a lot, so, so much from Loki and Loki gives him very little in return.

Though he tries, by the gods, does he try.

Sometimes though, sometimes Loki knows that Tom needs more.

It’s only a matter of time before all of that English patience runs out and he becomes what Loki fears the most.

Just another human that can’t take so much, can’t take everything.

Loki wonders where that line is so he can stay as far away from it as possible.

*

Tom asks him, once, and only once.

“What will you do when I grow old?”

They are in bed, Tom’s back to Loki’s front, Loki buried snugly inside him, one arm wrapped around him to hold him tight and stop his squirming, stop his moving about, because Loki wants to stay like this, wants to savor this moment until that inevitable end.

In answer, Loki brushes his lips over Tom’s ear and fucks into him until he’s a breathless, trembling mess.

He rolls Tom over onto his front and does it again.

Pulls Tom back, into his lap and does it again.

On his knees; again.

On his back; again.

Again and again and again until Tom passes out.

Tom doesn’t ask again.

*

Loki doesn’t like to think about it, but when he does, he really can’t help it.

Sometimes he grips Tom tight, sobbing into his hair or neck or stomach or thighs.

He fists his hands in material and sobs like he’s never sobbed in his life, as if it’s a purging, or a flood that has just broken through the dam.

He says nothing, just lets the tears fall, lets Tom pet his hair, soothe him for something he cannot control.

Sometimes though, it’s harder and Loki will flee.

He will run and rage in other realms or heal their hearts, fix the fallen things that wars have brought down on the worlds he calls his.

Sometimes he hides, sometimes in plain sight as a bird or rodent or insect, watching Tom worry his human heart to a weary end about where Loki could possibly be and why.

Other times, it’s very different and Loki seeks out Tom’s body for reassurance.

He will kiss and lick and suck and finger and fuck until he is sated, until Tom is a sweaty mess, sore and bitten and bruised, but clinging to Loki and telling him it was perfect and to do it again and again and again.

Sometimes it is slow and sweet and tender and soft and it makes Loki ache in a way he didn’t know he could, when Tom cries out his pleasure as Loki strokes him, buried so deeply inside of him.

But always, at the end, when he leaves his state of duress and always before, the catalyst, it is Tom’s mortality that he knows.

*

“It _is_ terrifying.” Loki tells him one day as they lay in bed facing one another, hands roaming over well-known, smooth skin.

Tom smiles, kisses the corner of his mouth.

“But it’s not so hard, is it?” He asks.

Loki smiles.

No, it isn’t.

There are few things in his life, in this life and the previous and even in his next, that he is sure of, but Tom’s mortality, the certainty that he will die, that he will cease to exist, that he is sure of.

That is the part that’s terrifying.

But the loving part?

That is easy.

*


End file.
